


I Like The Dirty Rhythm You Play

by blarfkey



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Maria Cadash - Freeform, Maria's got a temper, Modern AU, So You Think You Can Dance AU, Zevran is allergic to buttoning up his shirt, sexy tangos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:55:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27514171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blarfkey/pseuds/blarfkey
Summary: Maria Cadash is on a one woman mission to win this dance competition, get the prize money, and do something worthwhile with her life. And she's not going to let some smooth talking, navel showing, outrageous flirt of an Antivan stand in her way. Even if they get paired up with each other. Even when it's the Antivan Tango, aka Sex With Clothes On.Even if she's starting to think that maybe he could understand her better than anyone else she's known.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Female Cadash, Zevran Arainai/Female Inquisitor
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11
Collections: 2020 A Paragon of Their Kind Dragon Age Dwarf Exchange





	I Like The Dirty Rhythm You Play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold (manka)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/manka/gifts).



Zevran Arainai is a walking, talking cliche. Although, to be fair, they've all been whittled down to cliches for the reality TV dance competition she stupidy auditioned for. Maria herself is the Broody Bad Girl with a stare like a laser and a Checkered Past (drunken disorderly conduct and a parking lot brawl -- on the surface. Her Carta stuff is still unreleased.)

But Zevran is the Antivan Flirt who would fuck anybody and boy does he fucking live for that shit. He never misses an opportunity to turn someone's innocent comment into a double entrande, he's made a pass at literally everyone except for Sera, who's a straight-up lesbian. 

Even Morrigan, the only person deemed scarier than Maria.

And everything he wears is either skin tight or unbuttoned down to practically his navel.

Nothing phases him, either. Glares, cold shoulders, literal death threats are met with a wink and a sultry smile. To be fair, he usually will lay off for a while after one of those, but he always comes back for more, a dog under the table begging for scraps.

By the sheer grace of . . .some higher being, Maria has avoided getting paired off with him for the whole competition.

Until now. Right before the semi-finals. Dancing a fucking _Antivan Tango._

It's everything Maria did not want rolled into one horrible package and she can't fight the stormy tilt of her gaze as the cameras follow her down the hall to their practice room where the choreographers are waiting.

  
  


The next four hours rank as the most awkward of her entire life. Because do you know what people do when they dance the Antivan Tango? They _touch_ each other. Constantly. And not like a waltz, with the restrained romance of delicate finger touches. Oh no.

Zevran's hands slide down her arm, over her waist, over her thighs and calves, down her spine, skirting dangerously close to very sensitive places on her anatomy. Some parts of the choreography have his thigh sliding between her legs, or her legs wrapped around his waist, their face just a breath away from kissing.

It's basically sex with clothes on. And Maria's not ashamed of her body or afraid of being sexual, but this is a man she barely knows and intensely dislikes roaming his hands all over her goddamn body and she _hates it_.

And everyone in that room knows it.

It didn't start out too bad. The moves of the dance in and of itself look artistic, sensual and beautiful, when she watches the choreographers demonstrate at first. And the first hour or two is getting the basic form and lines down separately. 

But the second half of practice forces her and Zevran into that proximity and immediately her hackles rise. To his credit, Zevran doesn't use any of the moves as an opportunity to cop a feel, though he could certainly get away with it.

The female choreographer wastes no time in her critical remarks that grow increasingly exasperated.

"Stop looking so stiff."

"Move your body _with_ him."

"Again. That was too stiff."

" _Again_."

"Maker help us all, will you _fix your face?_ "

"What's _wrong_ with my face?" Maria finally snaps, glaring over at the woman.

Her fingers dig unconsciously into Zevran's arm.

"That!" says the female choreographer, jabbing her finger at Maria. "That expression. This is a dance of passion! Of sensuality! And you look like you want to murder him."

"He's not the only one," Maria hisses.

"Let's take a break!" says the male choreographer, clapping his hands.

Maria becomes acutely aware again of the cameras in the room. Fuck, they must be eating this up. She'll be the star of next week's show, with all this drama.

Feeling her anger shaking in her hands, Maria storms out of the practice room, not caring about the camera following her to the backdoor and into the alley. She spends the next ten minutes, leaning against the wall of the studio, wishing she was someone who smoked.

_Get it together, Maria. You're a goddamn professional._

Or she would be, if she won this fucking competition.

And she _would_ win. It was a lot of money, it would open a lot of doors for her, and she'll be damned if an idiot flirt like Zevran Arainai is gonna keep her from it.

As if her thoughts summoned him, the Antivan himself slips out the back door. Maria fights back a groan as he approaches her.

"Ah, so this is where you go to sulk," he says cheerfully.

She is going to punch him. She can feel it in her bones.

"What the fuck do you want?" she says, aiming for bored and indifferent.

He stops just in front of her, hands crossed over his chest, eyes surveying slowly up and down her form.

"You don't like men very much, do you?"

The accusation slips out in easy nonchalance, as if such an aversion is no different than hating olives on pizza.

Maria flinches, inwardly. Outwardly, she keeps her bored expression."Whatever gave you that impression?"

"The way you flinch when I touch you."

It hits her like a knife to the back of the knee. Her fingers curl into fists, eyes flashing. She has all the control and rationality of a cornered animal.

"Don't you ever talk to me like you know me," she hisses, her voice shaking. "Or you'll be limping back to the practice room."

He smirks, the bastard actually smirks at her, before he leans in real close bowing his head down so that the tips of his long hair brush against her cheek.

"You think because you were in the Carta that I'm supposed to be afraid of you?"

Though his words ghost across her face, the barest of whispers, they make all the blood in her veins freeze. She glances over her shoulder at the camera crew hovering at the edge of the ally. There's no way they could have picked it up, but her stomach clenches in fear all the same.

With the whole goddamn world as her witness, Maria can't quite cause the bodily harm she's desperate to provide for him. Instead her fingers dig threateningly into the front of his shirt.

"Who fucking told you about that?" she hisses.

"Nobody. I have ways of finding things out for myself."

It's a desperate battle to keep the panic from blooming on her face. Zevran could destroy her with that information. He could get her kicked out of the competition, he could blow her cover -- millions of people watch this show and she'll never get away from it --

"What do you want?" she chokes out, throat tight.

Instantly his expression softens, his hands coming to rest over hers, barely touching her.

"Just for you to know that we have more in common than you might think, Maria."

She does not like the way her name rolls off his tongue. Not at all.

"Really?" Despite her nerves, Maria can't stop the acid from leaking into her tone. "You think you have any idea what I've gone through?"

He raises an eyebrow at her and then does something very strange -- he licks the inside of his wrist and then gently extracts his shirt from her hands before rubbing over the place where he put his mouth.

Slowly something dark and inked appears -- a tattoo covered in make up, she realizes, as it slowly unveils itself.

It's a crow.

An Antivan Crow.

The wall keeps her from taking an instinctive step back. Not even Carta fucked with the Crows.

"I think I have an inkling," he says, the side of his mouth quirking up, tainted by sorrow.

She swallows, looking him up and down in a new light. Crows did not get out lightly or easily. Suddenly things seem very different between them.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you've caught my attention since the auditions and I would treasure the chance to get to know what is behind that stunning glare."

"Because you think I'm beautiful," she says flatly.

"Because you're passionate and fierce and intense in a way I find rather intoxicating. And if you would put that in your dancing, we would be completely unstoppable."

The answer surprises her. For all his remarks on everyone's looks, she didn't expect the things he appreciates about to have nothing to do with them.

Maybe Maria isn't the only person who puts up a carefully constructed front.

"If I may, could I perhaps suggest a truce?" he asks softly, holding an open palm between them, the shadow of his mark peeking from his sleeve.

Maria swallows and nods, placing her hand in his. "Truce."

Things improve and don't improve after that. She doesn't hate Zevran as much. In fact, she doesn't hate Zevran at all. Without the fog of her judgement clouding her, Maria finds Zevran to be much more a gentleman than she realized.

When he touches her body, his hands will hover over her clothes now, so that only the barest brush of his fingers actually touch her. And they never roam anywhere outside of where the choreographers place them for the dance.

He also whispers words of encouragement whenever the choreographer (Maria stubbornly refuses to learn her name) barks exasperated corrections.

He gets in the habit of escorting her to her hotel room. The network sprung for an entire floor of the nearby Hylton for anyone not local and his suite is down on the opposite end of the hallway. Sometimes they get dinner together, order up room service while he sprawls in the chair by the desk, and trade stories.

Dancing has saved both of them in exactly the same way. They both need to drown in it so they don't drown in something else. It's not like that for the other contestants and Maria is grateful to find someone who understands.

She does hate the female choreographer. With all the passion she says lacks in Maria's performance.

"You must emote, Maria!"

"Look at the passion in his eyes! Mirror that!"

"For Maker's sake, you look like you're made of wood!"

Maria's still got a couple of Carta contacts. This woman might disappear in the middle of the night if she keeps this up.

Two days before their competition, it gets particularly demoralizing. To her horror, tears start to sting at the corners of her eyes and Maria storms off again to the alley before they get caught on camera and displayed to all of Thedas next Saturday.

The problem is not the moves -- she can do this dance in her sleep now, her technique flawless. The problem isn't really Zevran anymore, either.

Or maybe it is.

The problem is the way he looks at her. His eyes never leave hers the whole dance and they don't reflect any of the playful flirting and mischievous glints. Up close, she can appreciate the stunning beauty of them, a golden tawny she's never seen on another being. It's the direct opposite of her silver grey, and not just in color, but in passion and emotion.

Zevran looks at her like he's in love with her. Like she's the only person in the room. Like darting his gaze from her for just a second would be agony.

The problem is that it feels too real.

The problem is that she wants it to be real. Not necessarily because she's madly in love with Zevran, even though her fondness for him feels like she’s in a car hurtling towards the brick wall that is love, and she can't reach the brakes.

But because she wants to know what it feels like to matter that much to someone. To have someone consumed by her, gladly feeding themselves to the destructive fire of her being and thanking her for it.

It's dangerous. Zevran is a good-hearted person, she can see that now. But he's not in love with her -- he wants to win, just as much as she does. And she's not in love with him -- but she could be.

Which is why she has to keep all this messy bullshit from spilling into the dance because she knows the second she starts giving Zevran the wide-eyed, sensual pouts and fiery passion that that fucking choreographer wants so badly, it's all over for her.

It will blend reality and fantasy into something she can't sort out anymore.

" _Princesa_?"

Despite the churning sea of anguish in her chest, a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth at the sound of Zevran's nickname for her.

He slips through the back door and heads straight for her. To her surprise, he comes alone. She figured by now the crew would follow him to document the drama. 

"Where are our friends?" she asks.

"I told them they were more than welcome to walk out here with working equipment but they would not return with it."

Looking out for her. Even though her stupid face and her stupid mind and her stupid heart might get them both cut this week.

He stops in front her, just inches away. By now his proximity doesn't bother her. Or it does, but not for the same reasons. He really is incredibly beautiful. Especially when he looks at her like that, like he'd do anything to make her happy.

"What is wrong, Maria?" he asks, so sweetly it makes her ache.

"Nothing," she bites back, an automatic response. "I mean . . .I don't know. Maybe I'm just too stuck in my own head."

He quirks an eyebrow. "I think I know what might help, but you're not going to like it."

"Tell me anyway," she says.

"You have to promise not to hit me."

Maria rolls her eyes. "I promise."

"You swear on your life?"

Mischief gleams in his eyes. Maria's stomach does a somersault.

"Yes! Fuck, Zev!"

"Exactly, cara mia. Exactly."

She blinks. "What?"

He takes her hands sweetly into his -- undoubtedly a precaution. "When was the last time you fucked someone?"

A blush immediately zings up her neck and to her ears. "I'm sorry what?" she splutters.

She tries to yank her hands from his and he tightens his grip. "It's a serious question. When was the last time someone touched you?"

"That is none of your business."

"Of course it is when it could keep me from the finals. It's been a long time, hasn't it? A girl like you doesn't trust very easily I imagine."

How the fuck is he doing this? Seeing through her like that? He barely knows her.

Her silence gives him all the answer he needs.

"That's what I thought. You need someone to . . . shake you loose."

"Are you offering?" she retorts, heavy with sarcasm.

Something in his eyes changes, like flicking a switch. They go from playful and teasing to dark and hungry.

"I would give you anything you wanted if you ever asked me."

She swallows, her mouth suddenly dry. "Really? Just like that?"

"Just like that."

The moment stretches like a taut, charged power line between them. The weight of her own yearning nearly knocks the breath from her. Which is exactly why she can't _fucking_ give in to it.

"I'll keep that in mind," she says, her voice shaking ever so slightly.

His mouth tips into a smile. "Be sure that you do. Now, what say you to going back in and pissing them off one more time before dinner?"

She allows him to take her hand and lead her back to the upper practice room, their fingers entwined.

A team.

Those words haunt her the rest of the night and into the next day. She tries not to take them seriously. That Zevran would fuck her, she has no doubt in her mind. But it would be fun and meaningless and then he'd never think twice about her after this competition ends.

Maria has had enough sex with people who don't give a shit, thank you very much. Sometimes, it's just better to be alone.

The last practice before the show the next day goes unexpectedly smoothly. The choreographers only keep them an hour or so. Maria and Zevran's technique is flawless, the steps perfectly executed. It's the emotion that's missing and it seems Maria's nemesis has finally given up on her.

It's both a relief and a disappointment. Maria sits in her room that evening, unable to sleep and feeling strangely hollow inside.

She knows this feeling well. It's cropped up with every grade below a B, every relationship that crumbled, every time she's given something less than her best.

It's unbearable. So Maria stands up, brushes her hair up into a ponytail, changes from her sleep pants into a floaty skirt, tank top, and heels that simulates the costume that waits for her tomorrow, and marches down the hall to Zevran's room.

Steeling herself, Maria knocks on his door. God she hopes he's in there -- and alone -- or she's going to look totally fucking insane. 

To her relief, the door opens to reveal Zevran in flannel PJ pants and a thermal henley, his hair down from it's half-ponytail like a glorious lion's mane. His eyes dip down over her outfit and return back to her gaze,an eyebrow raised.

"Yes?"

She swallows, fighting the blush that blooms on her face. This was crazy and a mistake. But it's too late to back out now.

"I want one last practice," she says.

"Now? The studio is closed, you know. Unless you want to break in -- in that case, neither of us is quite dressed for that."

"We can do it here," she says. "Or my room. Push the furniture around. We could make space."

He looks down at her for a long moment and she feels suddenly naked. Not in a sexual way -- like he can read her mind.

"As you wish, _Princesa_ ," he says with a mock bow.

The door opens wider to allow her in. Zevran's room looks much the same as hers -- same pretentious sitting area with a desk and couch and armchair, same queen size bed nestled behind curtained double doors. The only marked difference is the clothes strewn frantically across the floor.

"I'm not quite as prepared as you are," he says with a quirk of his lips. "Let me change into some jeans."

And then he immediately shucks off his flannel pants, revealing tight black boxer briefs that leave nothing of his thighs to the imagination.

"Maker's balls!" she shouts, whirling around and covering her eyes for good measure. "Some warning!"

"Sorry," he says, chuckling and not sounding very sorry at all.

She listens to the rustle of fabric and the soft footsteps on the carpet, trying not to imagine him dressing (or undressing). Suddenly, locked away in his private room alone with him half dressed behind her, this seems like the stupidest idea she's had in a while.

"It's safe for your virgin eyes," he says.

"I haven't had those in a long, long time," she says, snorting and turning around. 

The jeans, fit snugly against his thighs and ass, are not that much better. Where are the sweatpants he wore in training?!

"Maria?"

"Sorry," she says, shaking her head.

She's staring. Dear God. What is wrong with her? She should back out, make an excuse, try to get some sleep --

And yet her body walks over to the desk angled out from the wall and pushes it flush against it, the chair following suit. Zevran picks up his suitcase and sets it in the room with the bed. Together they push the couch and armchairs up next to the desk, picking up the coffee table until they have just enough space cleared out in the middle for them to practice.

Zevran positions himself somewhere in the middle and holds out his hand. "Shall we dance, Maria?"

Barefoot in tight jeans and a worn out henley, Zevran is probably the most beautiful man she has ever seen in her life. Her body aches to touch his in a way that frankly scares her. He was definitely right earlier -- it's been too long since she's fucked someone and it's made her a mess.

But she'll be damned if she lets her mess screw them both out of winning so Maria sucks it up, lets her walls down a bit, and takes his hand.

This time, when they dance, she sets free every desperate ache, every swallowed wound of loneliness, every ounce of hope and yearning, every chink in her armor that scares the shit out of her.

This time, when they dance, Maria just _feels_.

She can tell, almost immediately, how much it changes things between them. What once felt stilted and suffocated is now electric. Hands press and linger, as if they're trying to fuse with one another, as if letting go is the sweetest agony. The steps force Maria to play coy, to tease Zevran until he chases after her, pulling her back to him only for her to twirl away.

It doesn't feel like the teasing elusive flirting game the choreographers imagined -- now it's Zevran patiently pursuing a woman terrified of her own desires, always showing a willing embrace she must cling to and then reject, over and over again.

They end their final steps with her leg slide between his, his body leaned over hers, their fingers tightly intertwined, the faces inches from touching.

For a long moment they don't move, neither of them willing to let the other go. But eventually Zevran straightens, slowly, pulling her up with him.

"Maria," he says softly. "You've stopped hiding."

He tucks a strand of her hair that has slipped from her ponytail over her ear, his fingertips brushing across her cheek. The intimacy of such a simple act makes her chest ache. And it may just be a fleeting fancy of theirs, this strange connection that's grown between them, but Maria finds she just doesn't care anymore. She can no longer shoulder the burden of her own walls.

Instead she pulls him down by his shirt front and kisses him.

He melts into it immediately, almost as if he'd expected it -- and maybe he did. Maybe his vision is clearer than hers or maybe he's just more fearless. But Zevran kisses her like she's a foregone conclusion, like he saw her in the stars, and he's just been waiting for her to catch up.

She drags her teeth on his bottom lip, fingers skating down his chest to the hem of his shirt and --

His hands catch hers, gently tangling their fingers together. He pulls away, just enough for her to see his dark, burning gaze.

For a split second her stomach plummets -- she read this wrong, didn't she? She got desperate and stupid and --

"Tell me you want this," he says, his accent thicker than usual.

"Is it not obvious," she hisses.

"I need to hear you say it."

She searches his heavy gaze for a hint of mischief, a teasing glint, and finds nothing. It floors her. Maria has fucked a lot of people for a lot of reasons, some of them not great, and not one person has ever double checked with her like this.

Something breaks and crumbles in her chest.

"I want it." She swallows something down -- probably her pride. " . . .Please? Zevran?"

Those eyes narrow and darken even as a smile spreads softly across his mouth.

"Thank the Maker, _cara mia_. I've been dying to give it to you."

Then he swoops down and captures her mouth in a kiss a hundred times filthier than the one before. She plasters herself up against the lean lines of his body and Zevran wastes no time scooping her up in his arms until she can wrap her legs around his waist. The hard outline of his cock presses right up against her clit through the flimsy material of her skirt and underwear.

She moans brokenly against his mouth.

All the times he's picked her up and carried her through their dance ensures steady footsteps as he backs her up against the wall. His mouth tears itself away from hers to press nibbling, sucking kisses down her neck. Her hips buck up against his, a mindless search for relief. She needs to be fucked, like, immediately.

"Zev," she moans as his teeth scrape over her pulse. "Zev, please. I need you to --"

He slides her down just a little, the drag of his jeans sending a bright zing of pleasure through her, and pulls the strap of her tank top down with his teeth.

Fuck.

"-- need you -- Zev, come on."

He licks his way back up her neck until his lips brush her ear.

"Oh no, Princesa," he breathes, and she shivers in his arms. "I have waited too long for this to rush it now. I am going to take my time with you."

Maria bites back a whimper. Her cunt is literally aching for him to fill her and waiting might very well _kill_ her. 

"Can you cum more than once?" he asks her.

His hand pulls the strap of her tank top further down her arm, his thumb brushing against the side of her breast.

"Yes," she gasps.

"Excellent," he says and he gets on his knees.

Hot kisses trail down over her clavicle to the tops of her breasts. His hands slip up under her tank top, up her back, to effortlessly unclasp her bra. Then he pulls it and the rest of the tank top down her arms, over her breasts, until it rests bunched up around her waist.

Zevran wastes no time lavishing kisses on her bare skin, tongue darting out to taste her. His mouth travels up her stomach, between her breasts, up her neck and then back down again, his hands palming the curve of her waist and hips. 

It's glorious and maddening to be touched like this, each kiss like a drop of rain in dry earth. The moan she gives when his lips finally latch onto her breast probably leaks into the hallway and she doesn't give one shit. If he slipped his thigh between her legs she'd probably ride it like a fucking dog in heat, she's so far gone.

She doesn't have to because Zevran slips one hand up her thigh, under her skirt, to run his finger over the slit of her cunt through her sticky underwear. 

"So wet for me, Princesa?" he whispers, breath ghosting over her nipple. "And here I had worried I didn't have an effect on you."

"Shut up," she hisses, the flush traveling down her neck and spreading over her chest. "Shut up or I'll --"

His finger nudges the hem of her underwear aside and slips straight into the hot center of her cunt. Maria's threat dissolves into a garbled swearing gasp, her hands digging into his hair, head thrown back against the wall.

"I think," says Zevran conversationally, "that you are going to do nothing but cum for me."

His finger slips out -- her moan following it -- and in one deft motion, Zevran pulls her tank top, skirt, and underwear down to her ankles. In seconds she is totally bare before him. His eyes rove over her figure, his gaze dark and hungry.

" _Voy a devorarte_ ," he whispers.

Then he sinks further onto his knees, spreads her thighs apart with his hands, and licks a stripe up her slit.

"Oh fuck," Maria gasps. 

Zevran eats her out like she's a lush delicacy. His tongue swirls around her clit and flicks it before darting into the groove of her folds and tracing every soaked inch of her. Wet, sucking kisses are pressed against her clit, over her labia, until she's almost sobbing with need. 

Maria's thighs shake and tremble, hips grinding mindlessly into his mouth, until he pulls her legs to rest over his shoulders. His mouth never falters, even when bracing her full weight on his shoulders, and neither does his grip on her thighs.

It's like he doesn't even need to breathe.

Maria cums, hard and fast, against that clever, beautiful mouth, her cries sounding as wanton as an Orlesian whore. Zevran's lips are shiny with her slick when he pulls back, setting her slowly back on the ground.

She doubts her trembling legs could hold her up much longer, but Zevran straightens up and swiftly gathers her into his arms, bridal style, to haul her into the bedroom. He elbows past the double doors and deposits her onto the bed.

Immediately she dives for the button of his jeans. This man is going to get the motherfucking blow job of his life, she'll make sure of it --

Once again his hands catch hers, fingers wrapping around her wrist and pulling them away. Her eyes flicker up towards his, confused. The mattress dips around her as Zevran crawls over her, pushing her gently down on her back. His hands slide up her arms to capture her wrists before holding them down against the bed.

"Oh no, _Princesa_ ," he murmurs, nuzzling his nose against hers. "It is I who serves you."

"But what about you --"

"Oh don't think for a moment i am not enjoying every second of this," he says. "I have had weeks to imagine what I would do to you if given half a chance and you, I'm afraid, will have no choice but to accept my service. Now, can you cum from penetration?"

She swallows and nods. A dark, wolfish grin spread across his face.

"Oh _mi amor_ ," he says, dipping down to kiss her. "It's like I dreamed you."

 _Mi Amor_. That's a new one. But Maria doesn't have the faculties to contemplate it once Zevran slips his tongue back into her mouth. His hand slides away from her wrists, down her arms to cup her breasts, thumbs skating over her nipples.

They exchange kisses like filthy obscenities, all tongue and teeth, nipping and sucking. Her body is like a heat seeking missile, kissing him frantically, dragging his body up against hers by his belt loops and wrapping her leg around him. Despite still feeling the high from her last orgasm, Maria's hips grind up against his, relishing the rough drag of denim on her sensitive skin.

"Maria -- do you -- want me to fuck you?" Zevran groans against her mouth, the hard outline of his cock pressed tightly against her thigh.

"Yes," she breathes. "Yes, goddamn it."

"Then you'll have to let me undress, _mi amor_. "

She allows him to gently extract himself from her grip, fingers fisted in the sheets as she watches him unbutton his jeans.

The tight boxer briefs he wears underneath does nothing to disguise the size of the hard cock straining beneath it. It's thinner than Maria's used to -- dwarven men typically hang thick -- but it's so much longer. She licks her lips, wishing he would have let her see how far she could slide in her mouth.

Next is his shirt, pulled up and over his head on fluid motion. Her mouth goes dry, dragging her gaze from the subtle definition of his stomach, to the dark black swirls over his rib cage, a mirror of the tattoo on his cheek.

Maker’s fucking balls, he is beautiful. She wants to lick and kiss every goddamn inch of him. He leans back on the bed, sitting with his legs stretched out, his cock jutting straight up.

"Come here," he says, beckoning her.

It takes seconds for her to scramble up and into his arms, straddling him with her legs draped on either side of his trim waist. The slide of his cock against her slick folds makes her pant in his mouth.

"Zevran -- _please_ \--" 

Fuck, she is begging. Maria does not beg. But if he doesn't fuck her in the next ten seconds, she might spontaneously mbust --

"Yes, Maria," he murmurs. "Yes."

His hands pick her up by the waist, raising her up and slowly guides back down on his cock. It slides into her with no resistance, but fuck, it keeps going. Her sensitive skin tingles at every inch of him. She's panting against the side of his face when he finally hilts into her, feeling full in a way she's never experienced.

This time it's Zevran that groans brokenly against her ear.

"Fuck, Maria. _Fuck._ You're so very tight."

"I haven't -- in a long time," she admits around a startled gasp as he rocks his hips into her.

"I fully intend to help you make up for lost time," he tells her.

He molds her body to his with a hand pressed against the middle of her back, the other moving to cup the back of her head. Zevran kisses her as he fucks her, swallowing each whine and moan as he slides her up and down his cock with agonizing slowness.

"Zevran," she moans. "Please just -- just fuck me. As -- as hard as you -- want. _Please_."

What a fucking mess she must have been, to get reduced to this so easily.

"As my _princesa_ commands," he whispers.

He leans them both back onto the mattress until he's splayed out beneath her, hands on the back of her thighs while she braces herself on his shoulders. His fingertips skate down to the back of her knees, teasing the sensitive skin there. For a moment he looks up at her, golden eyes dark with want and soft with . . .dare she say fondness?

Then he drives up into her, sharp and sudden, and the moment breaks with her sharp gasp for air. Maria gets exactly what she asks for -- Zevran fucks her with rough snaps of his hips, hitting her clit with each impact at an angle that feels almost too much. She tries to grind against him, but he moves too fast for her to keep up.

All she can do is dig her fingers into his shoulder and hold on.

The slide of his cock against her sensitive walls, the gutting deepness of him, the electric bursts of pleasure each time he hits her clit could all bring her to orgasm alone. Frisson thrums under her skin, almost like goosebumps, threatening a full body shudder.

But then Zevran brings his lips up to one of her breasts, sucking her nipple into his mouth. Her nerves alight with skittering jolts of pleasure as he flicks it with his tongue and catches it between his teeth.

In no time at all, Maria cums a second time, keening loud enough for everyone on this end of the hallway to hear her. Her body shudders and trembles around him until she collapses onto his chest, unable to hold herself up anymore. Zevran follows her in short order, thrusting deeply in her, body stiffening as he cries out, before sinking back down.

For a long moment they don't move. Maria is content to bury her face in the crook of his neck and catch her breath. She keeps waiting for the impending _what the fuck did you just do_ meltdown to roll in, now that the flood of lust-addled hormones have ebbed.

But for some reason, it doesn't come.

Maybe it has to do with the blissful exhaustion that comes with a good fuck.

Or maybe it's the way Zevran trails his fingers lazily up and down her spine. As if her weight isn't crushing him. As if he's happy to be crushed.

Maybe it's the way she can feel his heart beat slow down beneath hers.

Who knows? Despite a multitude of reasons why this should have been a bad idea -- she barely knows him, one of them will go home eventually and never think twice about the other, they could be rivals next week with different partners -- something about this feels right.

"Maria," he murmurs, his voice rumbling near her ear.

She groans intelligently against his shoulder.

"I must admit . . .I'm rather fond of you."

His hand trails up her back to play with the strands of her hair.

"No matter what comes tomorrow . . .I would like to keep in touch," he continues. "If you're willing . . .I think I would like to do this again. Perhaps dinner may be involved next time."

She lifts up her head to look at him.

"Are you . . .asking me out on a date?"

He smiles crookedly. "I know this is happening rather out of order but . . .I like you. I'm interested in knowing you better. So yes. A date. If you're amenable."

It's as if he just plucked a niggling thorn from her heart. A nameless worry, suddenly gaining form and then discarded.

Maria does the most embarrassing thing in her life and blushes.

"Yes. I'm . . .amenable."

"It's a date then," he says happily.

"We gotta get through tomorrow first," warns Maria. "Don't get too ahead of yourself."

"I think, _cara mia_ , that you will not be so stiff tomorrow."

He has the audacity to tweak her nose and she doesn't even hit him for it.

She has a feeling she isn't going to be rid of him for a long, long time.

It's not a bad feeling.


End file.
